Inhaling sharply, Hannah realized she was completely nude. Turning only her head, she could feel Henry’s eyes raking over her backside before she saw him step up to press the front of his body against her back. His hands had moved up to cup her breasts, his lips to press against her temple.
Hannah resisted the urge to simply allow him whatever he thought he was about to do. Reaching behind her, she undid the fastenings of his breeches, knowing she had successfully freed them when his turgid cock sprang forth to press against her spine. Her hands moved to grab handfuls of his shirt and lift them from his breeches. A shiver arced through her when she heard his growl, although it was probably from his fingers wreaking havoc on her nipples and breasts. She turned her body around to face his, her hands pushing down on his breeches.
Realizing her breasts were no longer in his hands, Henry blinked and saw to removing his shirt. In a moment, he, too, was standing naked in the study.
Hannah gave him a brilliant smile, her face pinking up as she did so. “Time for my ride,” she said, placing the flat of her hand against his chest and maneuvering him backwards toward an armless chair. Breathless, Henry sat down, hard, and leaned back, watching through heavy-lidded eyes as Hannah placed her hands on his shoulders and swung one shapely leg over his lap, straddling him. Her swollen breasts were suddenly across from his mouth, her wet sheath coming down onto his erection. In an instant, he had her impaled and trembling as his hands gripped her bottom and his mouth took purchase on a nipple.
“I am afraid this may be a very short ride,” Hannah whispered between gasps for air as his manhood filled her. She was so aroused, it would take but a moment for ecstasy to send her into oblivion. Her arms wrapped around his neck. She held on as she lifted and lowered herself on her toes. Then she realized Henry’s hands, branding her bottom and hips with their heat, were lifting and lowering her as well.
Henry was suddenly as deep inside her as he would ever be. She clenched hard on him, desperately wanting his ecstasy to match hers. “Henry!” she cried, gripping his back with all her might. The matching groan from Henry sent vibrations through both their bodies. His mouth let go of her breast to say her name in a breathless prayer as his entire body spasmed into pure pleasure that had him almost rocking out of the chair. He stilled himself and once again buried his face into the soft white skin of her bosom.
Boneless and breathless and quite shocked at what she had done, Hannah slumped against Henry’s chest, the side of her face coming down to rest on his shoulder.
“I am suddenly very jealous of horses,” Henry murmured, the words muffled against her skin.
A giggle burbled up from Hannah. “You needn’t be,” she countered playfully.
Henry lifted his head to regard her, a smile still on his lips. It faded slightly as he took in the sight of her blushed body, so wanton and lush and lovely. He realized he should have removed the pins from her hair, so that the silken mass might form a curtain around them. “What … what was that all about?” he wondered, his brows furrowing suddenly. He made a move as if to lift her off of him, but Hannah clenched hard on his manhood while her hands clung to his neck.
“No, please,” she begged. “Don’t leave me just yet.”
Frowning at her response, Henry tightened the hold of one arm around her back while he lifted a hand to cup the side of her face, wondering at her sudden look of fear. “Hannah, what is it?”
Shivering, Hannah shook her head. A tear had formed in the corner of one eye. She blinked several times in an effort to prevent it from escaping, but it did so anyway, leaving a wet trail along her cheek.
Alarmed, Henry straightened in the chair, his hold on her tighter. “Hannah!” He wiped the tear away with his thumb. “Are you hurt? Did I … hurt you?”
Hannah was shaking her head, though, and sprinkling the top of his head with urgent kisses. “No, no, nothing like that,” she whispered, dipping her head so that she might see his eyes. “I received a letter from Her Grace, the Duchess of Chichester,” she finally said, her voice so small Henry barely made out her words.
“Lady Charlotte?” he said, his face brightening a bit. Then, when he considered Hannah’s hesitant manner, he became concerned. “Is she … well?”
Nodding, Hannah loosened her grip from around his neck but left her hands firmly on his shoulders. “Very. She and His Grace plan to make a spring trip to London so that she can make amends with her father. And then she and the duke would like very much to pay a visit here before the Little Season starts in the fall. That is … if my lord is … agreeable with the arrangement.”
Henry frowned at her sudden formality. “A moment ago, you were Lady Godiva and I was your horse, as I recall. You’re to call me ‘Henry’. Especially when we’re alone. Even when I’m a horse,” he added with feigned amusement. But he saw the unsure look on his wife’s face turn to something approaching fright. “Of course, she and the duke are welcome to visit. I, in fact, invited them to do so. Any time they wish. Ellsworth Park …”
He paused, suddenly wondering if Hannah knew of the details of his brief betrothal to Charlotte Bingham. He had spoken of her when he first courted Hannah, but he avoided telling her he might have married Lady Charlotte. Had he forced the issue, Henry was quite sure Charlotte would have agreed to the union. But even then, Charlotte had known there would always be a rift between them over the circumstances of the betrothal. The woman would have a scar for the rest of her life because of that damned betrothal. Now that Charlotte was married to a man who had his own scarred visage, Henry wondered if the duke knew how her scar got there. If he did know, had he been forced to accept his less than perfect duchess out of a sense of guilt? Or had he simply fallen in love with the lady and married her in spite of it?
The latter, he decided, realizing he needed to tell his wife why he held the title to Ellsworth Park. She was Charlotte’s friend. She would understand what had happened.
He was about to continue his comment when Hannah placed a hand along the side of his face. “Ellsworth Park was part of her dowry,” Hannah spoke softly. “She wrote to me about what happened.”
Suddenly embarrassed when he realized Hannah knew more than he thought she would, Henry nodded. Charlotte was her best friend. Of course, the duchess would have written to Hannah. She would have explained what happened that day when Henry showed up at the Wainwright estate intending to ask for Charlotte’s hand in marriage. “The deed had already been signed over to me. When we agreed we shouldn’t marry, she insisted I keep Ellsworth Park. To keep it from her cousin.”
Hannah nodded. “I know. And I … I am in her debt,” she stammered, her eyes searching Henry’s. At his quizzical expression, she added, “If it hadn’t been for Charlotte, do you think … would you have ever … sought me out? To be your wife, I mean?” The last words came out in a mere whisper, Hannah’s lips trembling.
Henry stared at her for several seconds. Would he have pursued Lady Hannah, the daughter of a marquess, if Lady Charlotte hadn’t directed him to do so? Would he have been so bold as to show up at Devonville House and request an audience with the marquess in order to ask for the man’s permission to court his daughter when he hadn’t even met the chit? And, if not, would he have eventually met Hannah? He would have been forced to attend a Season in London in search of her. Someone certainly would have introduced them at a ton ball or a musicale or a soirée. But the possibility of never meeting Hannah—he found he couldn’t imagine such a scenario.
“I would have had to,” he replied quietly. “I cannot imagine my life without you,” he added in a hoarse whisper, his face displaying an expression of shock.
Hannah’s heart clenched at his simple words. “Nor mine without you,” she whispered back.
Henry’s arms were suddenly like steel bands around her body, pulling her against him so hard she couldn’t breathe. “You send word back to the duke and duchess. Tell them they must visit. I insist they do so. Perhaps late Augus
t, when the pheasants invade the wheat fields. Joshua and I can hunt while you and Charlotte …” Hannah’s lips were suddenly covering his, cutting off his words with an urgent kiss.
Stifling the urge to laugh at her enthusiasm, Henry returned the kiss in equal measure. At some point, he felt her hand reach around to grasp one of his hands to pull it between them. She placed it against her abdomen, covering it with her own as she did so.
Henry suddenly pulled his face away from hers, a look of surprise on his face.
“While Charlotte and I share stories of impending motherhood,” Hannah finished for him.
Staring at her for several seconds, his expression of surprise not changing, Henry slowly smiled. “You’re sure? She is sure?” he asked, his face brightening even more at her answering nods. “Oh, Hannah,” he breathed, wrapping his arms around her and holding her far more gently than he had the moment before.
He pressed his face into her bosom, inhaled the scent of honeysuckle and musk and felt a profound happiness he hadn’t felt since the birth of his son. So he was startled when a sob racked the soft body he held. His head jerked up to find Hannah crying quietly. “Oh, Hannah,” he repeated in an entirely different tone of voice. “What is it now?” he asked as he reached up to stroke her face. Why do women who are with child have to cry so much? he wondered.
Struggling to breathe, Hannah, hiccuped and whimpered before saying, “We … had an agreement … that you would b-bbed me … every night until I was … w-w-with child,” she barely managed to get out.
“Yes,” Henry replied hesitantly, wondering at the sadness in what little of her voice he could make out.
“Does that mean … y-y-you won’t be … sharing my b-bbed anymore?” Hannah inhaled deeply, as if steeling herself for his response.
Henry stared at her in disbelief. He remembered the day in the coach when they had made the agreement. He thought they had made it with Sarah in mind. And then, a week later, he promised Hannah he would bed her every night for three weeks to make up for having cursed her dog. He hadn’t made that promise with Sarah in mind.
Perhaps Hannah had her in mind, though.
Perhaps Hannah had decided she didn’t want Henry and Sarah to continue their relationship as lovers. The mother of his child had made it perfectly clear his conjugal visits were no longer welcome the night she told him about her impending marriage to Tad McDonald. And Henry had begun to wonder if they ever had been.
With Sarah out of his life, at least as a lover, did Hannah really think he was going to quit spending his nights with her? Now that she had him so besotted he could barely think straight? So bewitched he actually came in from the fields every day for luncheon just so he could see her? So addled he would play horse to her Lady Godiva in his study? In the late afternoon, no less?
“Actually,” Henry finally spoke, “It means I won’t be bedding you anymore, my love,” he said quite sternly. The sound of Hannah’s sob could probably be heard through the entire house, and his heart clenched hard at how cruel his words must have sounded just then. “However, I intend to make love to you as often as possible. Your bed, my bed, this chair,” he said wearily, realizing he was still buried deep inside her. “I would suggest the large table in the kitchen, but Mrs. Chambers can be rather prickly, and I shouldn’t like to be naked anywhere near her meat cleaver.”
Hannah’s body stilled so suddenly, Henry had to pull his face away from the soft breast was cradling his cheek. He had been listening to her heartbeats, the tattoo a gentle rhythm under his ear until this latest round of tears. The tempo had turned to one more closely matching her heartbeat after he had pleasured her, after she had been brought to ecstasy and was clinging to him as if her very life depended on it.
“Are you … teasing?” she whispered, sniffling.
Henry cocked his head over the chair back, taking in the sight of Hannah’s tear stained face, her tentative smile, her soft white shoulders, the crest of her collarbones and the round, pink-tipped breasts he so adored. “I assure you, my lady, I will be at your beck and call whenever you ever wish to make love.”
Hiccupping, Hannah lowered her head to his shoulder. “Oh, Henry,” she whispered, her lips nipping at his earlobe and kissing the space between his neck and shoulder. Within a moment, she felt his hands slide to her hips and his manhood harden inside her, his breaths quicken and his pulse beneath her breasts increase two-fold. Even before his hands could lift and lower her, her toes began pushing her up and lowering her around his straining cock. “I do not think Lady Godiva had quite the right idea,” she managed to get out just before Henry placed his thumb onto the swollen space where their bodies met and merged.
“Right idea, wrong horse,” Henry countered, just before the growl of his tightening body erupted from his throat. Had they been anywhere but the study, he might have allowed the entire sound of his pleasure to escape. Instead, he simply groaned and covered Hannah’s mouth with his own as ecstasy took them.
Henry wore only his breeches as he helped Hannah to redress. Given her few garments, it didn’t take long to make her presentable enough to get up the stairs and into her bedchamber to change for dinner. He reminded her of the letter that still lay on the desk.
Hannah regarded the wax seal on the back. “It’s from my father,” she said as she opened it. Reading in silence for a few minutes, she lifted her head to find Henry’s gaze on her.
“Is everything good at Devonville House?” he asked carefully.
Hannah finally nodded. “Lady Winslow is now the Marchioness of Devonville,” she said as a brilliant smile appeared. “They married by special license the day before yesterday.”
Grinning, Henry took her into his arms. “So, now you have a stepmother,” he said before kissing her on the nose.
“But she’s not wicked, not in the least,” Hannah said, surprised at his comment.
“Neither are you,” he countered. He handed the pasteboard box with the coins to her. “And just to prove it to my son, I’m thinking you should be the one to give him back his treasure.”
Hannah gave him a curious glance. “As long as I can give credit where credit is due,” she stated, imagining how she and Harold would go in search of Nathan to present him with his pirate booty.
“If you mean Harold, then, of course,” he agreed. “Come on, Lady Godiva. We need to get dressed for dinner,” he reminded her, lightly slapping her bottom with the palm of his hand.
“Oh!” she got out in response, her gaze sweeping over his bare torso. “Do you honestly think you’ll make it all the way upstairs without being seen half-naked?” she teased, grabbing her stockings from the desk and sliding her feet into her slippers.
A burble of laughter erupted from Henry. “You see what you’ve done to me, you minx?” he accused, grabbing his shirt and pulling it over his head.
The afternoon tryst had been as exciting as it was enlightening and satisfying. Perhaps it was right that Lady Bostwick had been so free with her recommendations on how a married couple could enjoy one another. He wondered at how loyal, or deaf, perhaps, the servants must be in the Bostwick household, to have their master and mistress behave so, yet he heard not a hint of scandal about their lives whilst he was in London.
Henry suddenly considered how his own servants had been behaving lately. And he remembered the cook’s words, implying tonight’s dinner would be special. “Hannah. Who have you told?” he wondered suddenly. “About the babe, I mean.”
Hannah blinked. “Only you. When I first suspected, that night when…” She allowed the sentence to trail off, not wanting him to remember how bereft he felt the night Sarah had told him of her intention to marry Tad McDonald.
Furrowing his brow, Henry thought back to the cook’s comment. “Mrs. Chambers doesn’t know?” he asked, one eye cocking.
Hannah shook her head. “I don’t see how she would.”
“Nor Mrs. Batey?”
Hannah shook her head ag
ain. “I wouldn’t speak of such a thing with either of them,” she insisted. “At least not yet. Why?”
Henry held her close for a moment. “I think they must suspect, is all,” he managed to get out. “Come, let’s dress for dinner. I am especially curious as to tonight’s meal,” he said as he led her out of the study and up the stairs.
Surprised by his comment, Hannah shook her head. “Beef steak, potatoes, carrots and Yorkshire pudding,” she said with a shrug, as if there wasn’t anything particularly special about the menu.
Henry laughed, his hand tightening on hers as he lifted her hand to his lips. “My favorite meal, of course,” he said, continuing to chuckle.
Hannah’s eyebrow cocked in confusion. “You say that about every dinner menu,” she countered, wondering at his comment.
Henry wagged an eyebrow. “I do. Keeps them guessing,” he said with all the mischief he could manage.
Chapter 22
Pirate Booty No More
Hannah donned a cloak and made her way down the cobbles and through the front gate of Gisborn Hall, the pasteboard box filled with sovereigns under one arm and Harold at her heels. She timed her departure to match when she expected Nathan Forster to be making his way home from his tutor’s house. She was just past the dower house when she spotted the boy making his way home from the other direction. Harold’s ears perked up and he was suddenly racing toward Nathan, an occasional bark coming from his ever expanding body.
“Here boy,” she heard Nathan say as he lowered himself to the road and waited for the dog to jump onto him. The impact knocked him over backwards. A series of shouts and giggles erupted from the earl’s son as Harold proceeded to lick the boy to submission. “Stop! Someone save me,” Nathan was shouting in between his giggles.
“Harold!” Hannah called out, suppressing a giggle of her own. The puppy ceased his tail wagging and pulled his head up from Nathan’s face. “Sit!”
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